Bridging The Gap
by Kpasa
Summary: Simply, a bunch of random AU scenarios in which Sam first meets Jack.


**Series**: Bridging The Gap  
**Series Summary**: Simply, a bunch of random AU scenarios in which Sam first meets Jack.  
**Episode tag**: The Changeling (Fireman verse)  
**Pairing: **Sam/Jack  
**Rating**: PG-13  
**Disclaimer**: Does not belong to me.  
**A/N**: So this one story is just one among a dozen AU's in the works that I've been planning. My intentions for this series of short stories are just possible introduction scenarios in which Sam and Jack first meet each other. Because the idea of multiple AU one-shots has been wonderfully mastered by VGWrighte in 'Alternatives' (highly recommended btw), I was a bit worried about the similarities. So I asked permission, and fortunately the awesome VGWrighte was more than agreeable. (Though I think I may have thanked them under a different username, just to clear up confusion lol).

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_"There is a place where time stands still, illuminated by only the most feeble red light, for light is diminished to almost nothing at the center of time, its vibrations slowed to echoes in vast canyons, its intensity reduced to the faint glow of fireflies._

_-Alan Lightman, Einstein's Dreams."_

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* * *

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_The one where Lt. Colonel Samantha Carter of SG-1 meets Chief Jack O'Neill of Fire Station Engine Seven._

_**The Stray, Chapter 1 of 2**_

Lieutenant Colonel Samantha Carter never liked strays.

Even as a child she was suspicious of them. She would eye the back-alley conceived kittens (that Mark would deftly sneak into the house) with a measure of wariness, and her instincts usually proved correct when, predictably, she would inevitably find puddles of urine on her comforter and her brand-new sneakers clawed straight into the next world.

Sure, she liked it when _other_ people took in strays... she trusted _them _to do a good job of, well, that whole '_nurturing_' thing. Like... seriously. How could she properly domesticate a stray when her last transient of a boyfriend didn't even know how to do his own laundry?

Sam was good at science, at math, at hypothesizing an answer and inevitably proving it right. Her whole life was a series of set formulas and calibrated equations, of rigid walls and laneways that never diverged off course. Strays represented variability, with adoring eyes that one could trust but with a hidden personality one should fear. They were like the Goa'uld in that respect, disguised infiltrators of a standardized environment.

No, the whole domestic thing in general was just _so_ not her specialty, and whenever a stray presented itself, in whichever form (be it mathematical or a sentient being), she innately understood the need to gauge and retain caution.

And when SG-15 walked through that wormhole hauling a thin, quivering man who looked straight at her with his puppy-dog eyes, the only survivor of a fire-consumed village and begging for asylum, she felt that same inherent wariness.

Luckily for her, the Air Force shared those sentiments, and while SG-15 received the tongue-lashing of a lifetime, the small little man named Tobias was tucked away into a detainee cell until his credibility could be proven.

Granted, she had felt bad about this. She did, really. Sam was not an ill-hearted woman, and even _she_ was guilty of reluctantly caring for those timid little kittens so many years ago. So to cure herself of guilt she spent every lunch break for three weeks visiting Tobias in his quarters, loaded with two cups of Jell-O and a deck of dirty-picture cards (it made her happy to see him giggle, even if it was a bit maniacal).

It was easy to eventually trust him. Half the time she spent with him he had curled into a ball on the corner of his cot trembling, his thin frame wracking with nerves. He was like a mouse, she had thought, forgetting just how evasive mice could be.

It was those simpering, pitiable eyes of his that eventually stomped down her barriers, and on a Monday morning briefing she implacably fought for him, finally convincing General Hammond to allow Tobias supervised outings to the upper floors of the SGC.

Yea. That particular decision quickly came back to bite her on the ass.

How was she supposed to know the little freak was a pyromaniac?

The rocking of the SUV jarred her into alertness. She braced a hand against the door handle, resisting a dazed glare towards the airman behind the wheels.

"E.T.A Sergeant?"

"10 minutes, Colonel."

Sam nodded, already rolling down the passenger window. The summer evening was crisp and breezy, and she breathed in the smell of old rain and faint smoke. In the distance a single black plume rose out from the city skyline, fading into murky cumulus clouds. A forgotten billboard up ahead stood at a dangerous tilt, drenched by the afternoon sun, the yellowed canvas advertising ripped from the top-right corner and slapping hard against the "Got Milk?" type. The breeze was picking up, she figured, the morning storm would eventually return.

Good. From what General Hammond briefly told her over the phone, the Fire Rescue personnel would need all the help they could get. Still, a thunderstorm would only add to Tobias' anxiety, and she knew from experience that stress almost always threw rationale, not to mention sanity, out the window.

They were turning onto a near deserted roadway, littered with jagged cracks and dangerously serrated potholes. The boarded-up houses lining the grass-punctured sidewalks squatted lower and lower until eventually replaced by weedy, spacious lots filled with dirt and junk. She could for a brief moment envision Tobias stumbling across the small mounds of concrete and rock, characteristically hunched over with his right arm tucked into his wiry chest as though it needed constant protection. _How the hell did he get all the way out here without being caught?_

A thrum of an overhead helicopter whipped metrically in unison to the pulsating throb in her forehead. She glanced upwards, gritting her teeth at the absence of the signature red marking on its gleaming white side.

Already knowing the answer, she motioned to the driver and pointed towards it. "Air rescue or news?"

His eyes flickered out the windshield "Looks like KCNX." His eyebrows drew together. "Thought for sure we'd have grounded their choppers before word got out."

Well that's just great. Fabulous. Now the whole state could hear about how she fucked up.

Sam closed her eyes, already mentally scripting the first half of her report.

At 3:53 in the afternoon a call was made from a payphone in the north side, in the industrial sector of the city. Immediately followed were reports of flames shooting from a series of abandoned, interconnected warehouses, four in total. An eyewitness working at a nearby loading dock claimed that someone fitting the escapee's description was seen entering an adjacent door to the building prior to the initial blaze. While on the phone to the 911 operators, the witness described the fire of the first complex as being a quick but silent explosion, absent of a detonation type blast that would indicate the use of bombs. Within minutes three of the four buildings were consumed by fire, and the Fire Emergency crew spent the better part of three hours salvaging the majority of the property. The arson unit ascertained that the fire set to the fourth and last complex was set preceding their arrival. It is doubtful that the arsonist could have survived.

From far off she could hear the long wail of a single siren knifing through her dull senses. The acrid smell was getting stronger.

Her eyes shot open, and the once empty road was suddenly consumed with the vapor mist of red and blue flashing lights. One siren turned into a dozen, and she was greeted with the shouts of dozens of emergency crews. Sam blinked, unwittingly coughing at the pungent and heady burning of the far-off warehouses. She craned her head for a better vantage point, but with little luck. Black, gleaming vans were strategically positioned to block the public view. She drummed her fingers against the car door, impatient, as the airman weaved past the police units.

It was clear to recognize the "safe" zone, due to the gathering crowd of Emergency rescue and Air Force personnel. They were milling about the stretch of the first two buildings, which were completely extinguished and plainly considered secure enough to maintain close proximity to, despite their charred remains. The majority of the boxy hook-and-ladder fire engines were positioned further north, concentrated solely on the fourth and last complex.

Flecks of water shot downwind misted over the windshield, and she peered ahead to assess the damage, blinking past the low visibility. At the far north-end of the compound, almost two-acres away, black smoke churned and billowed from the pockets of broken windows, littering the sky with ash. The last building was a goner, completely unsalvageable. From what limited knowledge she knew about fire fighting techniques, she understood that one option would be to just let it run its course and burn out. But the high winds and close proximity to the barely rescued complexes beside it deemed this option officially nixed. The flashing lights and flickering fire glinted off of the red-steel of the engines, and the colors washed out into the spread of water on the cement platform, glinting and leeching its way into waiting sewers.

For a minute, both Sam and the airman sat in the car, wordlessly. Solely intent on stealing a few brief seconds before facing the aftermath of her mistake.

Even from the distance she could hear the iron gates creaking and the shatter and spill of molten glass. She clenched her jaw.

_Oh Tobias._

Daniel jogged up to the SUV, cautiously waving at her, wisely uncertain of her mood. She nodded her thanks to the man beside her before stepping out the door, blinking at the sting in her eyes. But _damn_ it was hot.

He stopped in front of her, breathing vaguely asthmatically. "I can't believe I beat you here."

Sam quickly appraised his attire, mentally groaning. "Yes, well, I'll pay you that drink later on." Why was he still in his uniform?

Brown noser.

She had received the call in the late afternoon, sitting on her couch drinking a beer and worriedly contemplating the end of her career. There was no time to re-apply makeup and shimmy back into her BDU's. Old jeans and a faded navy blue t-shirt would have to do.

Daniel looked at her uneasily. "Sam... just... don't kill the messenger, okay?" She blinked at him. His eyes tightened in a pained conveyance of sympathy. "Colonel Simmons is here."

Of course he was. Why wouldn't he be? He probably snagged an Asgard transporter device the very second he found out that she screwed up.

Well good. She deserved a kick in the ass. Even if it was courtesy of an N.I.D. scumbag.

Sam nodded, resigned. "Okay."

As much as she loved Daniel, there were times where she really couldn't handle that perma-worry expression that was so characteristic of him. Pursing her lips she shoved past him, striding towards the temporary tented command station while gathering her courage. He anxiously followed at her heels.

"Sam, it's not your fault!" She bit back a laugh, releasing a condemning snort instead. Typically, he ignored it. "So you can quit blaming yourself. You did nothing wrong by pushing for some allowances for him. General Hammond didn't agree to authorize him from his detainment cell because of _you, _don't flatter yourself_. _SG-15 shouldn't have brought him back in the first place, and he should have been more heavily guarded. There were dozens of factors in his escape that didn't involve you. Your hands are clean, Sam."

"Stop analyzing the situation, Daniel. It is what it is. I've just spent the last few hours prepping myself for a talk-down and I'll be damned if you're going to take that away from me." She whirled around. "Where the _hell_ is he?"

Daniels eyes had disappeared under the white glaze on his lens from the steaming water of far-off fire hoses, but his concern was still evident. He pointed a finger just past her shoulder. Straightening her posture, she reconciled herself to her fate and turned around to see Frank Simmons stalking towards her.

Boy, that purple vein pulsating _out_ of his neck was really _something, _wasn't it?

He halted in front of her. Instinctively Sam clasped her hands behind her back, schooling her features. His blubbery lips curled into a sneer at her expressionless face.

"How the hell did he get out, Colonel?"

She squared her shoulders. "I wish I knew, Sir. Captain Hadley was directed to chaperone Tobias around the base. Somehow the detainee got a hold of some flammable substances, exactly how remains a mystery, and by the time we were able to put out the fire and send Captain Hadley to the infirmary, the man had disappeared. We suspect through the ventilation, but I have my doubts. The lenses of the security cameras were shot out from apparently intense heat, so we can't say for sure."

"_You have your doubts_, Colonel? Don't you think you should perhaps _know _these things, given your..." And she had no doubt he paused purely for dramatic effect. "... highly questionable position?"

Her jaw clicked. "Sir, we underestimated the risk he presented."

"Do you spend a lot of time underestimating alien prisoners?"

_Ass._

"Beg pardon, Sir, but may I remind you the sensitivity of talking about classified matters when civilians are present?"

_Sam Carter, you my dear, are an idiot *begging* for a court marshal._

Clearly Simmons shared the same train of thought, if his eye spasm was any indication.

"Please enlighten me, Colonel. Because as far as I'm concerned," he leaned in close, his voice dropping to a hiss, "_the cat's out of the goddamn bag_."

She winced. "Sir, I have every confidence that Tobias will be back at base before tomorrow morning."

He snorted. "Let's make one thing clear. You and Colonel Elliot will head up the recovery unit, _tonight, _you will capture and secure the threat, and by the time my head hits the pillow I'd damn well be sleeping the deep slumber of a man whose job isn't about to be *firebombed* by a psychotic alien. And then, _maybe then,_ we'll discuss your so-called _invaluableness _to the SGC program. As well as any likely disciplinary actions that will undoubtedly arise from the mysterious reasoning's you provided General Hammond for allowing an off-world detainee this... this _allowance_ of freedom. Are we clear, Colonel Carter?"

Sam focused on a small shadow just past his left eye, unblinking. "Yes Sir."

Hopefully, before she was transferred out of the state, they would let her personally boot Tobias back through to whichever hellhole spit him out in the first place.

Without another word he marched past her, mumbling colorful expletives under his breath. She sucked in her cheeks as Daniel came up behind her, releasing a disbelieving breath. "That... was cold."

She closed her eyes. "Yep."

"Sam." he began, cautiously.

She shook her head. "Just don't, Daniel."

Nodding slightly, he took her by the elbow, leading her to the open trunk of an army-issue SVU. "Well we might as well hook you up."

Her eyebrows drew together as she stared down at the open black briefcases. "What's this?"

He gently lifted the clear plastic tubing from the packaging. "Wellll, from what I understood from Tom, it's basically like a fancy headset. Someone at the control station will flip a switch, and you'll have instant radio contact with all members of your team without interference or without the worry of scanner frequencies from outside sources."

She raised an eyebrow, quirking a weak smile. "Aw, that's my Daniel. Finally talking like the natives."

He snorted. "Yea, well, seven years at the SGC I had to put _some _linguistic training to good use. But don't expect me to start talking like _you_ anytime soon."

A far off sound of crashing timber caught their attention, and they both swung their heads in time to see a section of tin and wood roofing collapse in a heap of ash and embers. A flurry of firemen shouted above the din as a thick stream of pressurized water was redirected towards the destroyed area.

Daniel inhaled softly. "Damn."

"Yea."

Sam shared a significant look with him before snatching the thin plastic cord from the case, uncoiling its length. Daniel adjusted the dial of the adaptor-type end and, smiling sheepishly, slipped it into her back pocket. She clipped the delicate wire just above her left ear, and though the frequencies had yet to be connected, the metallic thrum implied a clear and unambiguous sound quality. She nodded, satisfied.

Shutting the lid of the briefcase, she heard the undercurrent of low mumblings, and she turned in time to see General Atchison arguing with a fire fighter at the other end of the tented station. This surprised her. Since General Hammond had announced his impending retirement, General Atchison was training to take over command duties for the SGC. And thus far he had seemed to be an entirely conciliatory and agreeable man, not inclined to be a confrontational sort.

But she found herself promptly changing her mind as the murmurs turned into shouts, and dutifully she turned her attention back to the task at hand, playing the good, unobtrusive soldier. But it wasn't just her ears straining to catch the increasingly nearing voices. Daniel shot her an exaggerated expression of what could only be described as, 'well somebody's gonna walk away from this with only one nut.'

Sam released a huff of laughter. Sure, General Atchison was a nice guy... if you were on his good side.

She turned her back to the argument, despite the fact that she could now hear what was being said.

"You've got to be kidding me, did you not just see that? Half the roof gave way!"

Instinctively she spared another glance towards the fourth building, only to see the black smoke and orange embers hissing as they were drowned by the relentless stream of pressurized extinguishers. The far-off shouts of his teammates was reflected in the angry anxiety in the man's voice, and he was forced to shout louder above the loud rumble of heavy footsteps and the heavy drag of water spitting from the long fire hoses.

"No. I'm sorry, there's no way in hell. We can't let your people in, General, without clearing the structure first. It's too damn dangerous. I'll send my team in first when I feel comfortable that the building'll hold."

Atchison's voice was calm, placating yet firm. "No can do, Chief. The arsonist is a suspected terrorist, probably armed, and currently my number one priority. Your people simply aren't trained to deal with him."

"Exactly how do you know _what_ my people are trained for?"

He sighed, loudly. "What I mean is that you do not have the proper clearance to come in contact with him."

"_Clearance_? He's a kid playing with matches for Christ's sakes." He gestured sharply with a soot-stained hand towards the charred remains of the standing structures. "Take one goddamn look at that. If the fire didn't get to him than the smoke inhalation sure as hell did. I'll bet anything he's in there either dead or unconscious, probably trapped under a broken beam. Right now he's a victim, _not_ a danger."

"I disagree. Chief O'Neill, you do not have the capacity to understand the threat. We go in first as soon as the smoke clears, that's the final say."

The man snorted in disbelief. "Until a ceiling falls down on you, or the floor gives way. The complex is old, General, hundred years _at least. _It's not structurally sound, and I'm hard-pressed to risk my _own_ people in there, much less yours."

"Colonel Carter." Sam looked over in time to see Atchison gesture to her with his chin. Tossing the plastic wrapping to Daniel, she walked over to them in three long strides, adjusting the small headset to her ear. "Sir?"

"You've been briefed over the phone with Hammond, correct?" He continued at her replying nod. "What's your assessment?"

The fire chief interrupted, furious. "Assessme... does my opinion mean anything these days?" He shook his head at Atchison's blank stare. "I might as well have gone fishing for all the help you..."

She broke in, impatient with the both of them. "Sir, I still recommend that we sit it out and wait. I would rather not risk my team and Colonel Elliott's team if the fire crew has already declared the building unstable, and frankly I don't feel that the suspect is enough of a threat to warrant unnecessary casualties. The fire is clearly not extinguished on the northeast wing, so tactically we can ignore that sector. We have every viable exit blocked. If he's still alive, and unharmed, I'm sure he'll try to escape again. We'll be waiting for him."

The chief, who had been stanchly following every word, nodded emphatically. "Yes, God, *thank* you".

She spared a quick roving eye at his grimy yellow bunker gear, from the turnout jacket and trousers to the patchy scar ridden sheen of the brass eagle from his helmet, tucked under his arm. The ash and soot proved to be oily on the flame-resistant fabric, and she idly noticed as the black grime fluctuated with his terse movements.

He was tense. That much was clear. But it was with some measure of surprise that she found her impatience dulling considerable as he implacably fought for his opinion, despite having clearly just been from the frontlines. O'Neill wasn't a chief who sat back and watched the men and women of his unit do the dirty work, he got right in there with him and acted not only as their support but also as their advocates. Sam mentally nodded, her respect for him rising. She understood. He wasn't there to merely put out fires, and his word was not meant to be taken lightly. Her head snapped up at the General's abrupt shake of the head.

"Not an option Colonel. Hayes wants him back at the base, ASAP. We're on the clock. The first three buildings have been extinguished, and I have orders to instruct you and your men to search and capture as soon as humanly possible. The last thing Hayes wants is to wait him out with a dozen news crews at our heels."

"Sir, with all due respect, he's likely to be found dead."

"Than that should make your job considerably easier, wouldn't you say Colonel?"

God, was today the official 'let's all be witty and bitchy to Sam' day?'

"Wait. Hayes? As in... _President..._ Hayes?" Atchison clenched his jaw at the chief's third interruption. Sam pressed on.

"Final orders?"

He nodded sharply. "The minute I get clearance to move into the first complex," he dropped a disdainful glance at the man beside him, "as reluctantly as it may be given, you move in."

"Understood."

The chief scoffed, disbelievingly. "No. _No. _*Not* understood."

Sam resisted a mocking smirk. Though the recalcitrant man was irritatingly noncompliant, it never failed to amuse her when grizzled old generals were faced with stanch insubordination by those out of their chain of command. There was always that same look of surprise on their faces, as though they had lived entire lives without their opinions being questioned and were looking around disbelievingly at the sudden departure of normalcy. As the chief continued on with his tirade, she motioned to Atchison for silent permission to head out. He tipped his chin in acquiescence, his jaw roughly working with impatience.

She backed away immediately, in no way willing to help defend her CO's position. She swiveled around, scanning the perimeter for the nearest ARV. It sounded like he was serious about setting out as soon as possible, so she might as well get the show on the road. Daniel stood by and watched her return, his fists jammed in his pockets. He motioned to a nondescript van closer to the command station, and they both turned towards it with their arms brushing. He didn't ask her what the plan was, he rarely ever did. Truly, the only times he was ever pushed to question her was when there were either innocent lives or innocent artifacts at stake. And even so, he was wise enough to detect the thin layer between her polite USAF decorum and the angry, flustered guilt-infested persona boiling inside of her. She mentally cringed, that particular side of her had already reared its ugly face more than once today, evidenced by her curtness and impatient glances, and Daniel was just too damn sympathetic to do anything but take it.

"I'm sorry, Daniel." She finally murmured. "I'm feeling a bit jaded today."

He placed a hand on the small of her back, the gentle slide of his thumb his only response. It was subtle, but she was forgiven.

"Sam!"

"Colonel Carter."

She looked up to see her tactical partner dodge comically past a few stomping SWAT team people as he made his way over to her, Teal'c just moments behind him.

Sam smiled, a touch of affection piercing through her defenses. Tom Elliott served as her CO on SG-1 up until her most recent promotion, at which time he promptly backed out of the frontline team and chose to head up SG-8 instead. Not without a large measure of relief on his part, admittedly, he had been affectionately bemoaning his responsibilities for a few years now. And after his most recent run-ins with a few select System Lords, he was eager to spend more time with his family. Still, SG-1 wasn't the same without him, more like a gaping hole in their respective lives, though she was flattered that he had bided his time until she was experienced enough to take command rather than relinquishing it to a stranger.

His hair was tawny brown, graying at the temples, his age more apparent in his weary, watery blue eyes. He was a handsome man, undoubtedly, and she was both personally and professionally ashamed to admit that if it weren't for his genuine devotion to his wife of 20 years, then she would have run the risk of being attracted to him. Instead, Tom had graciously accepted her hero worship of him and somehow transformed it into a more prosaic father/daughter relationship, one filled with indisputable affection without serving as an Achilles' heel in their chain of command.

He gave her an easy smile. "Saw you being chewed out by Simmons."

Ugh. Thank you, Tom.

She shrugged her shoulders. "He didn't tell me anything I didn't deserve to hear."

"Uh huh," He drawled, all too used to his former 21C's habit of self-deprecation.

"So." Moving on. "Apparently we're in charge."

He laughed, clapping her back. "Shit. We're screwed."

She grinned in response, good-naturedly shrugging his hand off.

"You want the east entrance or the south?"

Tom stared off at into the northeast end, watching the flames lick the sky.

"Welll, given the options..."

She rolled her eyes. "I meant in the first complex."

"In which case I'll cover the south entrance."

"Alright. I'll take the east, Daniel, I think you'd better sit this one out."

Daniel snorted, holding up his hands. "Hey fine by me."

"Teal'c." Her lips curved into an automatic smile. He looked so serene and stolid as he gazed out over the wreckage. At the mention of his name he turned his head. His eyes softened at her gaze, and for a minute she fondly recalled the early years when his scowl was his most defining feature.

"Teal'c, I'm going to need you to temporarily join up with Colonel Elliott's team."

He tilted his head in acknowledgment. "Understood, Colonel Carter."

Tom slapped his shoulder. "Great. I finally get the opportunity to convince you that SG-8 is by far the superior team. Why don't you ditch these losers and come work for me fulltime? "

Daniel scoffed. "You mean the losers that saved your guys' butts from those man-eating koala bears on '389?"

"Hey! In our defense they were six feet tall. And I directed Captain Williams to take a picture, not _pet_ it."

The archaeologist shook his head. "_The blind leading the blind_..." he mumbled. Tom's eyes narrowed.

"Anyway." Sam interrupted, seeing that this could drag on. "We don't have clearance to enter until the fire chief says so, which, judging by his attitude, could be awhile."

Tom nodded. "We should be bringing a body bag, not M16's. No way he's alive in there."

"It's his body we want. Dead or alive. News crews are already here; they'll want footage of the arsonist any way they can get it. We have a direct order from Hayes to move in ASAP."

"Still, I'd prefer zats."

Sam sighed in agreement. "Me too. But SWAT's already involved. I can't account for the likelihood of their confidentiality."

"Alright, I'll prepare the team."

"Sounds good."

She smiled, leaving them and making her way back over to where the Special Forces unit crowded around the black ARV's, loading their weapons and strapping on their ballistic Kevlar vests. She readjusted her headset, and covertly yanked out a vest seconds before being sandwiched by ginormous men in black. Backing off into a clear space, she began to loosen the straps, all the while trying to shake off that familiar feeling of absolute anxiety.

Sam felt a sheer patter of molecular sized water drops breathe onto her face. She squinted ahead, still somewhat in awe of the scene before her.

The flash of rotating police beacons glinted off the shine of the white strip on the fire engines. The turntable ladders jutted starkly from their perches on the roofs of the vehicles, shooting upwards into unbelievable heights, made even more magnificent as the pressurized water from the hoses extended the length by another hundred meters. The geyser of jetted water hit the coiling smoke and ignited, bursting and hissing in unison with the licking flames and shooting steam in every conceivable direction. A volley of torrential water poured from the walls, cascading down the ancient moldings of eroded red brick.

They were doing everything they could.

But it wasn't enough.

Somewhere, somehow, he was in there. Controlling this.

The fire fluctuated with colors. Pale yellow... bright orange... tawny brown... rolling and stretching and igniting into an exact parallel of the unsettled feeling gripping her stomach.

But she wasn't going to do this.

Not when her team depended on her.

Not with Simmons watching her like a hawk.

Not when a shy alien, though a complete head case, was trapped in the burning complex.

She shut her emotions off, sliding the vest over her head and pulling it down past her stomach.

The building Sam and her team would enter was clearly old. The muted brick, though nearly blackened, hinted at a dull exterior. There were three strata of colors on this brick-face alone, indicative of generations of attempted restorations. The topmost band, a dull orange, held the barely visible words of WES ERN UPP IES PIPE LIM TED, the missing words replaced by protruding, empty window frames and dangling fire escapes. The striated colors of orange and red-brown faded into chipped, charred remnants of blackened brick molding. It was a damn shame, she knew. This building should have been up for local architectural conservatorship, now it was likely headed for demolition.

The skyline in the distance held a different story. The sandstone buildings, volleying into golden torches by the lowering sun, jutted out in sequenced landscape. Their long shadows stretched and dipped into the concrete crevasses of the sky-rises beside them as one large mass of a raincloud pushed its way through the bright blue sky. It distorted the golden sheen and twisted it into long, roped shadows before they melded into one another.

Overhead a grey cloud scooped downwards, forming a circular crevasse that revealed a glimpse of sun-bleached clouds in hiding above it. The wind began to pick up, and the air simmered with the kind of silence only an upcoming thunderstorm could incur. A streak of lightning shot across the bright gold pallor, and her breath caught in her throat.

No respite.

She turned her head only to find Simmons glowering at her from his cozy sedan. Rightly so, she knew. Three weeks since her promotion and she unwittingly made way for an alien to escape into the populace. Karmic retribution. Sam closed her eyes, briefly, as she turned away. She must have been a menace in a previous life.

The descending sun had stretched out across the gravel parking lot, illuminating the packed down grit with a gleaming polish, and she felt its radiant burn reflecting on her hot and shining face. Sam wiped her forehead with her wrist and, feeling the telltale prickle of eyes watching her, lifted her gaze to meet that of the fire chief.

Annoyed that she hadn't noticed his approach, she smiled tightly. He offered what appeared to be a ceasefire grin, and she felt her shoulders relaxing. The last thing she needed was another argument.

"Colonel Carter, right? I'm Chief O'Neill."

She nodded, tightening the Velcro straps. "So I heard."

He was tired. That much was apparent. The shadows under his eyes hinted at hours of ceaseless hard work. A thin layer of sweat and black ash accentuated his craggy features, but he was still able to carry his body with an ease and confidence that spoke of decades of experience. The chief jammed his hands into the pockets of his turnout pants, a gesture Sam oddly enough recognized as an apparent lack of having anything to fiddle with.

"So, Colonel, does the guy have the map to the Holy Grail stuffed down his pants or something?"

Sam smiled. "As far as my superiors are concerned, he is the Holy Grail. Do we have an estimate on exactly when we can go in yet?"

He looked up at the sky and released an exasperated huff. "I still think it's a stupid risk."

Like she didn't hear that the first time around. She tugged the vest from her ribs, satisfied at the firm hold. "I understand Chief, and I agree. But orders are orders and if we're going to do this we'll take as many safety precautions as possible."

"Which reminds me. Just got the friendly order to remove four of my people from the scene so they can go play Simon Says to the good ol' U.S. of A."

Courtesy of Colonel Simmons, no doubt. The little dipshit.

Well this was her show, and unless she received direct orders saying so, she was calling the shots. She walked back to the cleared ARV, motioning him to follow. "Sir, I'll give you the option. Either you and your men come along for the ride and babysit us all the way up until point of contact, or you can sit this one out. Either way we've been instructed to move in, with or without your help."

O'Neill cocked his head down closer to her, close enough she could feel his breath on her neck. He was getting angrier. "You think I want to risk losing a few men just because you guys couldn't keep a dumb kid under lock and key?"

She turned her chin, barely bumping into the long expanse of dark skin at his throat. He towered over her, probably unknowingly. Perhaps some unconscious attempt at intimidation learned through years of having to be authoritative to the new recruits.

Sam never really did ever shake off that chip on her shoulder.

"Or." She interrupted him, pointedly. "You can avoid the risk altogether by directing me via walkie the basic blueprint of the building, keeping my team apprised of every entry point and any feasible structural susceptibilities to watch out for."

While Sam was speaking she had picked up her CAR-15 from the foam compartment in the trunk, cocking the charging handle and riding the bolt forward. His eyes flickered down to the gun and she knew he was silently appraising her easy familiarity with the deadly weapon. With amused pleasure she watched as he backed off a few inches, shoving his fists into his pockets and rocking back on his heels. His mouth tightened and quirked, she noticed, as though he was trying to curb a small smile. Clearly he got the hint.

She continued. "I'm not going to give you any airs, chief. Taking down a fugitive is something we're pretty damn good at. But we get a bit useless if we fall through the floor. We could use your expertise, and we'd..." She quickly peeked over at Colonel Simmons sipping coffee in his car. "*I* would be extremely grateful for any backup you could provide."

O'Neill stared at her intently, before reluctantly nodding. "We've had to tamp down four different fires in the last year alone in this neighborhood. My guys are pretty familiar with the layout."

She raised an eyebrow, unsure as to what he was agreeing to. "You in?"

"Well, I'm giving it another fifteen and then I'll give you guys the all clear. No pressure or anything, but I'd like to get this wrapped up as soon as possible so I can head back out to the rest of my teams."

"Why don't you just send a couple of your people out, I doubt your presence is very much required."

He made a clicking sound with his teeth. "Protocol."

"Ah." She bent her head to examine the firing chamber. "Well, if it's any consolation I don't think this will extend into nightfall. It looks like rain later tonight."

He scrubbed a hand across his face. "We'll take what we can get." He leaned against the rim of the trunk, tiredly watching as she replaced the rifle with a glock and slid it into the holster. "We're throwing everything we've got at this thing, but something keeps feeding it."

She scrunched her eyebrows. "What do you mean?"

"I've never seen anything like it. I mean we've put out pain in the ass fires before, but this one takes the cake. As far as I know it's empty. Even the insulation couldn't generate that much spread-out damage. Makes me wonder if there's a lab in there."

"Like a meth lab?"

He nodded. "Wouldn't be the first time. Looks like your guy picked the wrong hideout to light up in."

Sam looked up at him. "Let's just be clear, Chief. This isn't _just_ an explosion in a meth lab. He deliberately set those fires. If by some miracle he's alive in there I want you and your people to know that he _is_ a _threat." _

His dark eyes fixed onto hers, pinning her with a sort of dead-set seriousness she felt launched in her stomach. "Yea, I'll grant you that. But tell me this, is he worth it?"

She thought for a moment, thinking of Tobias' thinning brown hair, his sallow face and milky blue eyes. She thought of the way his slender hand would quiver, uncontrollably, as he flipped the Queen of Hearts onto her backside beside the winning stack on the cot. She remembered the first time he laughed out loud; the uncomfortable feeling it gave her but still not without pleasure. She was the only one he smiled to. At one point, however convoluted it may have been, he had trusted her. She believed this.

Sam leveled her gaze right back. "Yes, he is."

O'Neill nodded, considering.

Suddenly she felt a bubble of warm air singe her face, immediately followed by a distant _whoosh _of bursting glass and the crash of iron grates folding in on themselves. They turned to see the swell of bright orange flames boil and burst into the air, expunging the sky with a cloud of black smoke. It came from a considerable distance away, but the shouts of the Emergency personnel rose exponentially. Before Sam could even regain her bearings the chief had already begun his trek over there.

"Make it thirty minutes!" He called out.

"Chief?" O'Neill turned around, still moving. She _was_ grateful for their help, and she felt some measure of guilt over her authority to remove them from their much-valuable duties. "Thank you."

He shot her a crooked grin before turning away, the deeply etched grooves beside his mouth briefly breaking into a prism of patterns on his tanned face.

It struck her then, how attractive he was.

Immediately Sam shuddered with self-reproach. So so _so _not the train of thought she wanted to embark on. She slowly started to double check her person, patting down the security straps of the vest while sparing one last worn-out glance over to where the minor explosion occurred. This wasn't her fight. She had no doubt that he more than capable of handling the fire. Hell, they rescued the other three buildings. Sam felt another twinge of that ever-present guilt. As long as she had a few of his people with her, she sincerely believed his presence belonged out there. _Not_ holding their hands.

Still, the thought had bothered her.

If Sam had to name one of her biggest weaknesses, it would be her inability to separate her respect and subsequent hero worship with her romantic desires. Whether it stemmed from the cold, reserved love she had for her officious father, or the dozens of flyboys she had dated over the years, she had no idea. But somehow over the years the line between admiration and attraction began to blur into each other, and Sam was intelligent enough to recognize the dangers.

Clearly the chief was an authoritative man. A man who spoke with an easy self-assurance and naturally expected others to fall in line behind him. It was well-earned, she was sure, and well-deserved. If he was a field officer she had no doubt he would be a valuable leader. One whom she would gladly follow and trust to watch her six.

But on a personal level he was just the sort of person she had spent more than a decade steering clear of. Sam was under no illusions. She knew exactly what influences made her strong, and what made her weak.

From the moments where she had told her father off, given Jonas his ring back and diplomatically told General West where he could shove his wandering hands, Samantha Carter had been progressively and successfully moving away from those type of men. The type of men that through the natural born ease of their confidences and assertiveness, the cocky surety of their actions, somehow always innately made her doubt her own virtues as a leader. She didn't need them, and they certainly didn't need a bullheaded woman who would talk herself into challenging their decisions purely for the sake of trying to live up. And _then, _of all things_,_ she would cower away and second-guess herself at any conceivable opportunity. She'd been through, not to mention _screwed up_, more of those sorts of relationships than she cared to think of.

Nope. Not her type.

She cocked her head as he jogged back towards the scene, watching him pensively. Plus, she thought as her eyes flickered up to his graying hair, he had to have at least a decade on her. Certainly old enough to have been through the ringer, judging by the deepening lines on his face. Probably married, with teenage kids, and _therefore_ none. of. her. concern.

'But', her eyes flicked back down to his six, '_daaaaannn...'_

*Focus*, Samantha.

Ugh.

She hated that she was 35 and her father could still mentally reprimand her.

She also hated that she was a Lt. Colonel in the USAF and instead of taking charge she was checking out a strangers butt.

Sam shook her head and jogged over to the tented command station, nodding to Colonel Reynolds and General Atchison. The hard glare of sun seeped through the blue canvas tent, casting odd shadows on the table and soaking everything in a deepening blue haze. She sidled past an airman to peer down at the table. The blueprint of the building layouts were unfurled, one under the other. She looked up at Reynolds.

"You covering the second complex?"

He nodded. "Me and Henderson."

"Whose got the third?"

"No one. Too dicey. We've sort of come to a compromise. If we can't locate Tobias in the first two buildings, we'll have to wait the fire out before entering the third. The General believes that we're still at risk for encountering some hotspots so close to the fire."

She looked over at her CO with Teal'c's signature raised eyebrow.

Atchison shrugged. "The chief had a few valid points." He scrubbed a hand through his hair. "It's risky. I'll take the heat if he's not in either of the first two buildings. I have too many teams going in there as it is."

Sam nodded, relieved that he was making some concessions for safety.

A repetitive flapping noise banged on the metal pikes, and they looked up to see the canvas tent slap hard against its holdings.

Reynolds spoke. "We should already be in there. If he's still alive this storm is just going to freak him out."

"The chief gave me a thirty minute estimate." She replied, bending over to put weight on the flapping blueprint.

"It's going to be a big one." He said, still staring out.

Sam took one last quick second to study the lowering sky over her shoulder, which had grown so dark with thunderheads that an early dusk had come upon the city.

"He'll be back in the SGC by tonight." She murmured, turning her attention back to the map and memorizing the entry points.

_Come hell or high water._

TBC.


End file.
